'BOREALIS RISING' - A Subnautica Story V2.0.

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As a brief recap: Selkirk is a first-generation Martian born of Scottish parents. Known to use a distinctly Scottish turn of phrase in moments of extreme stress or high elation. Generally converses in Standard Anglic.

Our Torgaljin colonists originally came from Sol's asteroid belt. Their common language uses English as a base, but also includes many borrowed words from Russian, German, Afrikaans, Japanese, Cantonese, Italian, Yiddish and Spanish. Words originating in Gaelic, Creole, Romani, Shelta and Rastafari patois also tend to creep in, although they are much less common.

Functionally, the Belter language would be equivalent to modern American English combined with LOLSpeak.
Once your ears got used to its particular oddities, you should be able to grasp the speaker's meaning with comparative ease.

On the whole, most of the colonists seemed excited by the prospect of occupying this new base. There were definite 'oohs' and 'ahhs' expressed during my virtual walkthrough, and rightly so. We were offering five-star accommodation to people more accustomed to seeing blank basalt walls and brutally utilitarian furniture. After putting in a few hours of honest graft looking after the aquaponics bays or attending to the base's rather modest maintenance requirements, most would be quite content to flop back on one of Margaritaville's sun lounges and watch the remainder of the day cruise by. Naturally, some took a more critical view of what we were offering, suspecting some kind of Faustian pact was attached to this arrangement. I did my best to reassure these people that this deal was offered with absolutely no hidden strings.

My sales pitch wasn't all sweetness and light. I had to emphasise that Manannán's resident environmental hazards were considerable and definitely not ones to be taken lightly. I'd like to think that my holographic animations of Reapers, Crashes, Biters, Bleeders and the planet's shark analogues drove the lesson home, although there were bound to be some bravos who thought they'd be equal to the challenge. Admittedly, I spent a good portion of this time talking about Warpers, Leviathans and The Father of Tides, placing particular emphasis on their intelligence and unique powers, along with a brief roundup of how these creatures were intimately tied to the planet's ecology. In a nutshell, I explained that if you get on the wrong side of these chaps, you'd best leave your last will and testament someplace handy. In most cases, that should suffice.

All up, the colony contained 64 inhabitants. JUNO and IANTO were running a triage clinic during my real estate presentation, mainly to collect general information and baseline health data from the colonists. As previously noted, their overall standard of health was remarkably sound. Some of the colony's younger children presented with mild intellectual disabilities, presumably due to declining 02 concentrations in the habitat's atmosphere. In IANTO's opinion, most of these children would require little more than specially tailored learning programs to bring them back up to speed. Only a handful of the original colony's elders remained, and all were quite infirm. There was little we could do for these fragile souls from a medical perspective, although their remaining years would at least be spent in some appreciable measure of comfort and dignity.

When all was said and done, we took our leave of the colony. Generally, the colonists seemed quite receptive to the idea of relocation, although they would still need time to consider our offer before responding. Polyakov and his mates did their level best to present a surly and disinterested front to our proposals, although I couldn't help but notice some of these bruisers appeared to be visibly wavering in their declared support for The Big Feller. Before leaving, we installed commlinks and info terminals at various points in the base and issued the colonists with wrist PDAs, then ran them through a quick tutorial session to get them connected to our central network. Basically had them all neatly bagged and tagged in one (comparatively) smooth operation.

The subject of surveillance is an awkward one. It was never our intention to re-mould these 'Morlocks' into a herd of docile Eloi. Belters are essentially a hard-working and stoic people, fully capable of carving the heart out of an asteroid and turning it into a self-sustaining colony, purely by the sweat of their brows. Their indomitable spirit of self-reliance has defined them as a people, although it would be something of a skilled juggling act to allow them to progress naturally under far more relaxed living conditions. A society without challenges soon stagnates and decays. However, we still need to observe the Belters from a respectful distance.

The committee's faces appeared on the main screen. Their expressions gave nothing away, although I suspected that this final decision didn't come easily. In a way, I respected the Belters for taking this length of time to consider our offer. It appealed to the engineer in me. Weigh the pros and cons according to their merits, carefully consider all possible alternatives and then form a decision.

"Mister Selkirk, the committee wishes to advise you that your offer has been accepted." Li said.

"Excellent news, Mister Li. Please transmit your colony's facility requirements and any proposed structural changes to the new base. I will also require an estimated cargo manifest of all equipment and personal effects scheduled for transfer. We shall commence preparations as soon as this information is received. Estimated construction time for the base currently stands at 10 days. Please keep us apprised of your progress, and do not hesitate to call us in the event that you require any assistance with your preparations. Thank you all, ladies and gentlemen."

Just as I was about to disconnect the commlink, Gita Patel spoke.

"Namaste, Mister Selkirk. I have one final question, if you don't mind."

"Namaste, Mme. Patel. Please, go ahead."

"During our previous discussion, you mentioned that all colonists will require a 30-day decompression cycle before being allowed to venture topside. I understand your need for caution, although it is not necessary for all colonists, surely? All of our divers and hyperbaric environment workers routinely decompress before re-entering the colony, as I'm sure you're fully aware."

"Absolutely correct, Mme. Patel. That was extremely sloppy language on my part, and I sincerely apologise for any confusion this may have caused. The 30-day cycle is intended to safely and gradually acclimate all colonists to atmospheric conditions on the surface. You are currently breathing a significantly depleted mixture of gases, and I am taking this step purely as a safety precaution. However, I fully appreciate your concern."

The viewing screen faded. I turned to the crew with a grin.

"It's a done deal, then. Let's get cracking, troops."

Unfortunately, there were no 'off-the-peg' Alterra designs for a deep-submersion personnel transport of the dimensions I had in mind. It took the best part of a pot of Darjeeling tea before I came up with a design that satisfied all operational requirements. This vehicle wasn't particularly pretty to look at, although it would do its job like a boss. The DSV 'Exodus' looked like a school bus had mated with a wide-track bulldozer, and neither parent would be happy with their offspring. Its unfortunate appearance aside, Exodus could carry 100 passengers and cargo to a depth of 5,000 metres in complete safety.

However, I was slightly concerned by its low speed of 20 knots at full thrust, although some hefty defensive armament would increase the vehicle's survival rating. There wasn't really much I could do to refine its hydrodynamic profile though, apart from losing the caterpillar tracks and replacing them with gravity lifters and omni-directional wheel pods. This would also lower the vehicle's centre of mass considerably, and allow it to pass through the colony's main airlock with ease.

I think it might be an appropriate time to visit the Talking Wall again. I've had to make a few modifications to our 'community notice board', mainly because free space became something of a scarce commodity in the later years of my life. There is also an element of artistic sensibility behind this decision, since some of those illustrations could be considered actual works of art, and I feel that they're definitely worth preserving. I am particularly fond of what the Warpers have created there. My contributions are merely engineering drawings with a bit of embellishment, although there is an eerie, otherworldly beauty to the Warper pictographs that will give you the shivers.

A purpose-built communications panel is now embedded in the north face of the plinth supporting the Aurora monument. It's essentially a series of touch-pads designed to allow Warpers to control a holographic avatar, and this enables them to communicate remotely with us. Think of it as Manannán's version of social media, minus the funny cat pictures. Of course, I could post my message to the Warpers without leaving the bridge, although I felt that this news was far too important to be delivered in any other way but in person.

Not only that, I was always up for any excuse to get wet.

Disco Volante dropped from its docking clamps, and I was away. ExoSuits were fine for shouldering one's way into somewhere bristling with teeth and claws, but there was something about a Seamoth that connected a body with the sea in a right and proper fashion. Apart from depth upgrades and a more energetic drive system, I hadn't fiddled around with its basic design beyond a certain point, mainly because I preferred this vehicle for its size, speed and agility. Just between you and me, piloting a Seamoth is the next best thing to being a fighter pilot. Yee-hah.

I was hoping to see at least a few Warpers on my way over to the monument, although there didn't seem to be any in the immediate neighbourhood. Mind you, that doesn't mean a whole lot where Warpers are concerned. They have an unsettling habit of popping up unannounced. I wouldn't call it an inherent social failing of this species, although it can lead to some awkward moments if you're not prepared for the encounter. It's particularly rough on humans, as I will attest from prior experience. If it feels like there's someone playing the Anvil Chorus on your cerebellum, you can bet your last Credit there's a Warper somewhere nearby.

To make absolutely certain my message reached the Warpers in a timely manner, I activated the comm system's call tone well in advance of my arrival at the monument. It shouldn't take too long before one appeared. To be on the safe side, I eased back on the throttle and cruised in at a brisk swimming speed. Although they are well accustomed to our vehicles, Warpers still get a little antsy when one comes barrelling past them at speed. I've often thought of putting up a couple of 'Warper Xing' warning signs on the seafloor, if only to mess with the next human expedition that arrives here. Not much chance of that happening anytime in the foreseeable, though.

Sure enough, a Warper was already waiting at the monument. It gestured to me in greeting. I exited Disco Volante and activated my holographic camouflage field, precisely imitating the shape and motions of a Warper.

"Warm seas, friend. This one brings words for The Father of Tides."

The Warper made a complex sign of reverence. The actual meaning of this gesture defied any attempts at analysis, although I suspected it meant something along the lines of 'hallelujah' or something of that genre. As it seemed to be The Done Thing, I repeated the gesture as a courtesy.

Now that we had all the social niceties covered, it was time to get down to brass tacks. Warpers are highly suspicious of anything that resembles prevarication or subterfuge in a conversation. Rule One: Always be direct and cut straight to the chase. Remember, these chaps are skilled telepaths. They don't have to understand Standard Anglic to know when someone's up to no good.

"This one speaks for Lost Ones from beyond sky. This one make new shell for Lost Ones on floating land below sky. The Father of Tides allow Lost Ones (to) swim free or break shell?"

"Same Lost Ones (who) take The Father of Tides?" The Warper inquired, bristling suspiciously.

"Not same. All gone many tides. Lost Ones all new. This one make Lost Ones swim free. The Father of Tides make Lost Ones swim free?"

"This one speak these words to The Father of Tides. Stay."

In spite of their comparatively small vocabulary and its odd grammatical structure, Warper 'speech' is still a tricky business. Their version of a spoken language is almost an afterthought. I assumed it's far easier for them to mentally process raw emotional states and other abstract concepts than it is to articulate their thoughts without access to an extensive vocabulary. Although it's tempting to gently prod this species into developing its own written language, that's not my call to make. There are inherent risks involved with 'boot-strapping' alien civilizations before they're ready to deal with any radical advances in technology. It might seem like a trivial wee thing, but all language shapes the civilization that it serves. I'd rather not meddle with any latent potential the Warpers might already have. Simply allow evolution to take its course, and everyone will be much happier for it.

After a short while, the Warper returned. In the mean time, I had amused myself by clearing the area of Biters, punting dozens of the little buggers through the water/air interface with cheerful abandon and a souped-up propulsion cannon. I admit, I'm not exactly St. Francis of Assisi when it comes to dealing with Biters, Crashes and Bleeders. Hateful sods one and all, and there seems to be no appreciable diminution in their numbers, despite my most earnest efforts.

I greeted the Warper again, and was pleased to see that its mantle displayed a 'calm' pattern. Good.

"The Father of Tides says Lost Ones swim free. Lost Ones no break shell of This Place." The Warper gestured tersely, stating both the Sea Emperor's final verdict and the conditions binding the colonists to his decision. As long as the colonists abide by this one simple rule, all would be well. I conjured it would be entirely up to me and the crew to make certain that the colonists toed the line.

"Lost Ones not break shell of This Place. The Father of Tides words hold this one's life. This one holds Lost Ones for The Father of Tides. This Place and all life swim free." I swore, signing reverence to bind my words into an unbreakable oath.

Oh, boy. I'm definitely going out on a limb for these colonists. Apparently, this unconditional gesture of respect pleased the Warper immensely. It made the sign of reverence and I respectfully reciprocated. A done deal it is, then.

So Warper language is almost like an interpretive dance... fascinating. They also have names for creatures, like the sea emperor being The Father of Tides. Would you mind if I could have a list of creature/object/plant names in warper language?

"The Public Health and Safety Party"
"Because all species deserve to live life to the longest and the fullest."

So Warper language is almost like an interpretive dance... fascinating. They also have names for creatures, like the sea emperor being The Father of Tides. Would you mind if I could have a list of creature/object/plant names in warper language?

Hmm. This sounds like it might need to be a separate side-project, rather than something I can incorporate into the story.

I'll see what I can do. Bear in mind, Selkirk has pointed out that the Warper vocabulary is unusually limited.
Their language relies more on emotions, gestures and the tonal patterns on Warper mantles than actual words.

Hmm. This sounds like it might need to be a separate side-project, rather than something I can incorporate into the story.

I'll see what I can do. Bear in mind, Selkirk has pointed out that the Warper vocabulary is unusually limited.
Their language relies more on emotions, gestures and the tonal patterns on Warper mantles than actual words.

it would make sense that they still have names for different creatures like naming the reaper "roaring menace" or something like that.

After returning to The Broch, I assigned the crew to their various tasks. JUNO and IANTO commenced working on the foundations and core structures of the new base. I collared DIGBY to assist me in pulling the tarps off Pyramid Rock, as there were certain items stored there that required a particularly 'quiet' relocation. Now that Polyakov and Co. have been positively identified as a disruptive element, it would be a good idea to remove all potential sources of temptation and place them well out of the reach of inquisitive fingers. My main concern was relocating all the Mako combat subs. I wasn't at all comfortable with the idea of leaving them completely unattended, then having to deal with the consequences of Polyakov getting his hands on one. Although their flank speed of 60 knots made Makos appreciably slower than a Gen III Cyclops, those fighter subs were small and extremely agile. This would be a deciding factor in any combat action involving these vehicles. I'd rather not let any situation develop to the point where lethal weapons are involved.

Speaking of lethal weapons, I've given some serious thought to installing a Valkyrie Field system in the colony. This poses a number of significant problems, both philosophical and practical. I have no further use for the Valkyrie Field, mainly because it doesn't work on androids. If my body is damaged beyond the point of repair, it's easy enough to transfer my consciousness to another shell. However, if the body's physical memory core is destroyed, that basically wraps it up for Alexander Selkirk. Stored personality backups degrade slowly but inevitably. My particular version of 'immortality' is constrained by a need to perform a full memory update every 30 days, without fail. For the sake of convenience, this process has been integrated with my sleep cycle. As a result, my dreams have acquired some rather interesting properties of late, to say the very least.

The colonists are an entirely different matter. Although I believe that they have every right to access the Valkyrie Field, this decision is tempered by its potential for some highly unpleasant social repercussions. According to IANTO, there are two inevitable consequences that will arise from operating a Valkyrie Field, and neither of these effects are particularly desirable for the colony's continued stability. With a Valkyrie Field in effect, it might be seen that there are no longer any serious consequences attached to ill-conceived and impetuous actions. People taking idiotic risks for the sheer hell of it may have been considered high entertainment a few centuries ago, although I'd like to think we've moved on as a species since then. Of course, we'll inform the colonists of those potential quantum uncertainty effects before leaving them to their own devices.

At the darker end of the social probability spectrum, recreational murder could become a reality. As you're aware, we already have at least six potential suspects revved up and ready to go. Rather than deal with some blood-soaked parody of Valhalla where combatants are free to hack away at each other with cheerful camaraderie, I'd rather have this society maintain some degree of respect for the lives of others. To this end, we eventually decided upon the 'Three Strikes' exception to be applied in certain cases. At this point, we're creeping into some pretty dubious territory. This places me and the crew in a highly uncomfortable position, in that we will effectively wield the power of life and death over these people. As you can probably imagine, this will lead to all manner of social problems somewhere farther down the track. When I joined Alterra Corporation, establishing a pantheon of 'omniscient' cyber-deities was the very last thing I had in mind as a career path.

"Polyakov." I said bluntly. "I'm still figuring out the safest way to deal with him and his cronies. The most logical approach is to keep those scunners too busy to get into any serious mischief, but doing what exactly? - Polyakov definitely won't be playing his unique version of the Invigilator game again, particularly if I have any say in the matter. I considered having them man the colony's defence turrets, although there's too great a risk of them getting bored and taking pot-shots at the planet's more significant life forms. All it takes is another dead Warper, and we're back to Square One."

"However, you might be on the right track, Sir. Polyakov's team will need reassignment to other duties more suited to their relaxed living conditions, although I am currently at a loss to suggest any potential choices of alternate vocations. Hmmm... This problem is a particularly thorny one, Sir."

I chuckled briefly. "I've already thought of one. Not entirely certain that Polyakov and his Blue Meanies would enjoy working as bouncers in Manannán's first underwater disco, though."

DIGBY grinned. "Actually, I have reason to suspect that they would. Rather too much, in fact."

We returned to work. Shortly before noon, all eight Makos had been unpacked from their transit cradles and launched by the Ripleys. As soon as we finished loading Ulysses with medical supplies, food and assorted stores for the colony, our convoy could set sail for The Broch. We didn't actually need the Makos for protection, although it was more convenient to bring the whole squadron across in a single operation. To tell the absolute truth, I was unrepentantly kid-eager to see how these combat subs performed under remote control, especially since I was going to be the one piloting all eight at once. That should give the old parallel processors a vigorous workout.

The Makos were already equipped with a JUNO-class AI, and it was necessary to politely ask her permission before assuming control of the squadron. I opened a communication channel, linking the squadron directly with our JUNO Prime, effectively updating the sub's resident AI cores to the definitive version that we all know and love. The whole process only took a couple of minutes in real time, and saved me having to wade through a boatload of official cybernetic rigmarole involving authentication, command over-rides and whatnot. It was far easier to ask JUNO herself if I could simply borrow these puppies for a while. Unsurprisingly, she said yes.

"Ulysses is standing by and ready in all respects, Sir." DIGBY said from the helm station.

I settled into one of the passenger seats and made myself comfortable. Taking a deep (and totally unnecessary breath), I closed my eyes and reached out to the Makos with my mind.

Although I have assumed remote control over vehicles before, this experience was slightly more involved than making four ExoSuits do my bidding. This time, I had to contend with movement in three dimensions. I started out rather tentatively at first, moving just one sub at a time to get a proper feel for the frankly bizarre sensation of 'being' in all eight subs simultaneously. After a few minutes of careful exploration, I found that the process became considerably easier if I thought of the squadron as a single entity, and then gradually allow each unit to function independently of the others as my skill and confidence increased. Within ten minutes, I had a pretty decent handle on it.

"Ahead dead slow, DIGBY. Swing wide around Aurora's bow and set course for The Broch."

"Ahead dead slow. Aye, Captain."

As soon as we cleared the field of underwater spires surrounding Pyramid Rock, the convoy submerged to fifty metres and increased speed to 15 knots. I pre-positioned the Mako squadron into a loose defensive box centred on Ulysses, and then began practising various formation manoeuvres while under way. Let me tell you, processing a constant stream of information from eight different sources is every bit as tricky as it sounds, and I had to stay completely focused on the squadron as a whole rather than dealing with each element as a separate unit. I believe Shrinks refer to this method of information processing as a gestalt model, and I was starting to get a good idea of how this 'swarm control' technique could be applied to other situations.

The Makos were currently cruising in two stacked diamond formations around Ulysses. When I brought the uppermost flight down to the same depth as the lower flight, I noticed a faint return developing on the passive sonar. Although the contact was ill-defined and kept ghosting in and out, it was obviously moving slowly towards us, using the acoustic bottom clutter of the Mushroom Forest as cover.

"DIGBY, are you seeing this? I think we might have picked up a tail."

"Affirmative, Captain. What are your orders, Sir?"

"Proceed on course. I'm keeping a close eye on this contact for the time being. If it makes a move, we can simply outrun it. The Makos aren't carrying any heavy-duty ordnance, and it probably wouldn't be a good idea to send any of them in to investigate. It could provoke an aggressive response. Remember, I'm on a promise with The Father of Tides, and he might take a pretty dim view of us using any of his high-end subjects for target practice."

"Duly noted, Sir. Our relative proximity to Pyramid Rock suggests that this contact may be the Reaper Leviathan designated 'Binky'. However, this stalking behaviour is entirely atypical of that particular specimen. Naturally, I recommend that we proceed with extreme caution."

"That makes this encounter all the more intriguing, then. Binky usually prefers to come barrelling straight in, roaring his head off. He's generally straight to the point and refreshingly direct. This change in behaviour may have a wider significance, particularly if it isn't a one-off aberration."

The seafloor changed abruptly at the edge of the Mushroom Forest. We were now transiting the Koosh Zone. Our sneaky friend would have slightly less physical and acoustic cover to play with now, although this area provided a fresh complement of environmental obstacles to bedevil our sensors. The EM emissions of Amp Eels and the intermittent rumbling of magma vents could be masked out to some extent, although the passive sonar image would lose a great deal of its resolution in the process. It seemed like our best bet was to weave a precise path skirting the region's acoustic hot-spots, and hope that our contact's location would be revealed by the 'shadow' it threw. If you can't see something that's tracking you down, you'd better start looking for a hole in the water. Being far too quiet in relation to your surroundings is every bit as revealing as banging away with active sonar.

From what I could see on the sonar display, it was time to take this business a wee bit more seriously. Binky's sonar trace had firmed up considerably as we passed through the magma vent field, and it was all too obvious that he was lining us up for an ambush. However, the attack wouldn't come from him directly. Binky was only there to make sure we kept moving away from him and straight toward where he wanted us to be. To be certain, I instructed DIGBY to make a couple of deliberately random deviations from our programmed course. Sure enough, Binky changed his approach vector every time we changed our heading.

We were now 300 metres from Aurora's portside bow. Only a low tangle of girders still remained on the seafloor, although they would make a perfect hide for a hunter waiting in ambush. This area was Ahab's old manor, and Binky was relentlessly herding us straight into his parlour. My tactical analysis was absolutely rock-solid on this probability, although I was curious to see exactly how they intended to carry off their plan. Neither Reaper has fared particularly well against Ulysses in past encounters, and it appears as if they've decided to buddy up in the hope of changing the outcome this time around. A Gen III Cyclops is tough old bus, although I'm starting to have some serious doubts about its ability to withstand two Reapers attacking it simultaneously. The Makos aren't going to be much help in a close-in knife fight either. Those 25-kilowatt argon pulse lasers lose most of their punch at any distance over 50 metres, and I'm not at all comfortable with the idea of being the centrepiece in an undersea furball with laser beams flying all over the place.

The longer I thought about this, the less I felt inclined to stick around. Something's not right here.

"Helm to 110, increase speed to 30 knots."

"Helm 110, 30 knots. Aye, Sir." DIGBY responded crisply.

Ulysses veered away sharply, swinging wide of Aurora's bow. The Mako squadron followed, shifting into a defensive box formation as soon as there was sufficient sea-room to permit this manoeuvre. We were going way too fast to use passive sonar now, although it was a certainty that we hadn't shaken our pursuers yet. I estimated that the convoy was well clear of the ambush point by now, and ordered another abrupt course change to 270 to bring us back onto our intended return track.

Looks like we're going to be running a gauntlet. Reckon it's time to beat those bushes up ahead.

"All Mako sonar arrays are slaved into Ulysses. Give me a ping."

DIGBY looked at me incredulously. Even so, he reached out for the activation pad, his hand poised.

"Captain?"

"Give me a ping, Vasili. One ping only, please." I said calmly.

DIGBY tapped the panel, activating the entire convoy's sonar emitters simultaneously. A single 10-kilowatt pulse boomed out, lighting up the surrounding ocean with the acoustic equivalent of a mini-nuke. The sonar return from that snapshot was miraculously sharp, consisting of a single image that showed us exactly where all the pieces sat on the board. Two contacts lay astern at 300 metres and were closing rapidly. That would be Ahab and Binky, of course. Not a big surprise.
One contact, directly ahead at 500 metres range. Carrie. Ahab's missus.

Well good to know that the reapers are back, always there to play with Selkirk.
Also jumping the gun a little but, will we get an explanation as to why the Reapers are learning new tactics for hunting?

Well good to know that the reapers are back, always there to play with Selkirk.
Also jumping the gun a little but, will we get an explanation as to why the Reapers are learning new tactics for hunting?

I think it's just because the reapers are intelligent enough to know that their old tactics against Selkirk we're not working so they decided to try something else. Ahab and Carrie are still really pissed about Selkirk interrupting their intimacy earlier I guess.

I think it's just because the reapers are intelligent enough to know that their old tactics against Selkirk we're not working so they decided to try something else. Ahab and Carrie are still really pissed about Selkirk interrupting their intimacy earlier I guess.

"Advance speed to 60 knots. Carrie's the cork in this bottle. A sharp smack to the mush should be enough to shove her out of the way. Open fire the second she comes into range."

"Aye, Sir."

I commenced scanning with the Mako active sonars as Ulysses commenced its run. Apart from providing a real-time picture of the situation as it unfolded, I figured the racket the sonars made would also disorientate the Reapers sufficiently to give us a decent fighting chance. Two hundred metres out, Carrie surged forward at top speed. Here it comes.

Hammer and anvil time.

Without warning, three sonar blips suddenly appeared below the port side of the convoy, rising fast. MakosThree, Five and Seven went dead, blind-sided by three hidden Reapers that had been lurking in the trench below. As all three stricken fighters whirled out of control and augered into the sandy bottom, I struggled to retain command of the remaining five. Although there was no actual pain when the Makos dropped offline, their abrupt disconnection hit me with the force of a sandbag to the side of my head. It took at least five seconds to regain my bearings after this sickening feeling of dislocation. I suppose that this sensation was entirely mental in origin, an unwelcome sensory leftover from my flesh and blood days.

The Reaper juveniles wheeled about from their first charge and turned in to attack Ulysses. My remaining Makos broke formation as a starburst, each sub streaking clear of Ulysses to commence their attack run. Obviously, the Reapers had set up this ambush with particular care. The massive berm of sand heaved up as Aurora slid to a halt lay to starboard, restricting our manoeuvres considerably. Likewise, the Makos could only make strafing runs at targets on Ulysses' port side, or they would be picked off by the juveniles as the fighter subs slowed and turned to avoid running into the towering sand-bank.

Rather than slaughter the Reapers outright, I deliberately tuned the lasers low to deliver painful flash burns instead. This would either discourage the Reapers or enrage them to the point where nothing short of absolute carnage would end this encounter. Given that Ahab and Binky were still closing in, I wasn't entirely certain that we'd make it through this in one piece. If all else failed, Ulysses could sprint away at flank speed and leave the Makos to fend for themselves. At this point, I could safely consider the fighter subs to be expendable, serving only as a distraction while Ulysses broke contact with Carrie. Our main objective was to put the Makos well out of reach anyway, and if it comes to them getting chomped by a pack of Reapers, so be it. Truth be known, the Makos weren't particularly useful to us in their current configuration, and any that survived this unholy mess would require extensive refits before they could outmatch a Gen III Cyclops.

Ulysses surged forward at 80 knots, opening up with a barrage from its TRIDENT array. The phased-array sonar pulses slammed into Carrie, stunning the Reaper instantly. The forward repulsion cannons thudded heavily, swivelling in their turret to steer the Reaper's inert form out of Ulysses' path as it sped onwards. Enraged, Ahab and Binky screeched in unison, increasing their speed to close the widening gap between them and Ulysses. I brought the Makos around for one final pass on the pair, hoping to distract them for just a little while longer. I scored a couple of quick hits on the older Reapers, then set the squadron on auto-pilot and gratefully punched out of the cyber-link.

I wonder why they're suddenly attacking? Selkirk said at the end of the last story that he had been given the closest thing to diplomatic immunity by the Sea Emperor and that the Reapers let him pass unharmed through their territories.

Well good to know that the reapers are back, always there to play with Selkirk.
Also jumping the gun a little but, will we get an explanation as to why the Reapers are learning new tactics for hunting?

I think it's just because the reapers are intelligent enough to know that their old tactics against Selkirk we're not working so they decided to try something else. Ahab and Carrie are still really pissed about Selkirk interrupting their intimacy earlier I guess.

Yeah that makes sense.
This would be terrifying if this happened in game, i would never go the the island again.

"It would appear that our safe-passage arrangement with The Father of Tides has expired, Captain." DIGBY observed wryly.

I snickered briefly, waving his comment away dismissively.

"I wouldn't be so certain about that, mate. It could be said that almost every sentient on this planet respects the Sea Emperor to some degree, although only the Warpers have demonstrated what might be considered a distinctly religious inclination. The way I conjure it, He's probably regarded as a hands-off kind of deity. Less of a 'Thou SHALT Not...' and more of a 'Do what thou wilt' type of guy. I'm also guessing that Reapers aren't what you'd call regular church-goers, either. Can't imagine them getting togged-up in their Sunday best and belting out 'Bringing In The Sheaves' with any real enthusiasm. Reapers are damned intelligent, but they're also the local bad guys. Never forget that. Also bear in mind, there's still some serious beef between them and our Cyclops fleet. I'm guessing that they consider our boats to be a rival predatory species, and simply attacked us to get in among the Makos. Thin out the competition's numbers by going after its young. Pure instinct."

"An interesting hypothesis, Captain." DIGBY agreed. "Admittedly, we haven't been attacked while free-swimming or piloting a Seamoth in well over a century, so we may assume that this is indeed the case."

"I'm inclined to be charitable here. We'll work under the assumption that The Father of Tides' protective geas is still in effect, and simply write this episode off as a 'Reapers doing what Reapers do best' type of thing."

"I assume that would be 'behaving like total dicks', Sir?" DIGBY deadpanned.

"Something like that."

Back at The Broch, we reviewed the video feed obtained during the Reaper attack.

IANTO frowned. "This does not look good at all, Sir. Reapers used to be exclusively solitary in their behaviour. Now, we are witnessing active collaboration between individuals previously considered to be deadly rivals. I have been unable to determine their mode of communication as yet, although I strongly suspect that it could be some form of low-level telepathy, given the remarkably precise nature of this attack. Infrasound is also a distinct possibility. Unfortunately, there was too much active noise in the water to permit an effective frequency spectrum analysis."

"Communication and co-operation among individuals of the same species is a natural behaviour trait." JUNO observed. "However, mounting an attack at this level of complexity implies that Reapers are actively sharing their knowledge of our current standard tactics, and they are fully capable of developing effective countermeasures to them. In short, I believe that we may have grossly underestimated their intelligence. To put Reapers into a proper perspective in terms of their demonstrated intelligence, they are Manannán's equivalent of killer whales. Their emergent pack-hunting behaviour is completely unprecedented, and extremely worrisome in its implications for the colonists. For the sake of all parties concerned, we would do well to avoid any further contact with this species wherever possible."

"Avoidance is only a sound strategy when you already know where the other guy is hiding." I said. "Sooner or later, those Reapers will probably come looking for us. This isn't an issue in itself, although they'll probably encounter the colonists first. That is going to be a real problem. Basically, our hands are tied here. We can't pre-emptively kill off all the Reapers to protect the colonists, and we can't give the colonists access to lethal weapons or military-grade subs. The very most that we can do at this point is to provide their base with a powerful defence system and hope for the best."

DIGBY nodded in agreement. "I concur, Captain. Although the colonists' safety is our primary concern, this obligation must be handled with the utmost delicacy. As we have guaranteed them complete autonomy, they may not permit an AI construct to be installed in the base, even if its only purpose was to control the colony's power, life support and defence systems. I believe that a certain portion of the population might see this as a covert means of projecting our influence upon the base. Unfortunately, this also means that the colonists will have total control over the base's defence systems, and it may lead to unfortunate consequences for the planet's major life forms and quite possibly, even ourselves. As you said before, Captain... Our hands are tied here."

Grinning, JUNO leaned forward conspiratorially. "I have an idea."

A few hours later, I commenced construction of DSV Exodus, the latest addition to our fleet. The construction rig is a re-engineered version of the VAM gantry used to create the first beacon ship, Bifrost and the launch vehicles for the Argus satellite array. The sub-bay's broad apron provided more than enough room for this build, although I had to modify the head of the sub pen with a Terraformer to create a boat ramp. This would also work as part of a rapid launch system for the Makos, although that was a job best left for a less hectic time.

All design parameters are checked and A-Okay. Construction gantry is hot. Throw the switch, Igor!

By The Power of Greyskull, it was ugly!
Forty metres long, fifteen metres wide and six metres high. Suddenly, I felt an irresistible urge to don a trucker's cap and dial up some Johnny Cash tunes. Aesthetics weren't a high priority here, although it would certainly do the job it was made for. Most importantly, Exodus would fit into the colony's main airlock.

Sideways... Only just.

That particular design limitation was already sorted by using omni-directional roller wheels and gravity-lifters. Precision manoeuvring wasn't a huge problem. Unfortunately, the Torgaljin base's airlock size constraints precluded installing a Cyclops power plant, so I had to make do with six vectored-thrust Seamoth pumpjets instead. Even with all that raw, unbridled power at its command, the best rate DSV Exodus can make is a blistering 20 knots. Preposterous! Mankind was never meant to attain such speeds.
Not to worry... We'll have DIGBY swim in front of us with a red flag.

Its interior fittings were only slightly less visually challenging. No exterior viewports at all. At extreme depth, any hull penetration is a dangerous liability. Even the pilot's view was a video feed from an array of externally mounted cameras. In the interests of passenger comfort, I placed a number of monitors in the seating area to enable the colonists to see their surroundings. Of course, this external view would be carefully controlled under certain circumstances, although I probably wouldn't go as far as switching the scenery to comforting images of dolphins, puppies and kittens if the proverbial did hit the fan. I'm guessing that the sound of six heavy repulsion cannon turrets and an electrical defence field lighting off might drop a few major hints regarding our situation.